


mother, make me

by Noa



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Budding Love, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Drama, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gender-Neutral Robin, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noa/pseuds/Noa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Make me a bird of prey, so I can rise above this, let it fall away.</p><p>Following Gerome through his past, present and future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing.
> 
> Inspired by Florence + the Machine's 'Mother' [♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unPhGfW-PGw)
> 
> Tags will be updated as I go, and the rating is for future chapters.

**Twin Wyverns**  

>  “[...] a fellow Wyvern rider, I see. This is a piece of good news!” -Cherche

_Gerome remembered being no taller than the top of his mother’s spotless boots._

_She’d pick him up like he weighed nothing, and lift him onto Minerva’s lowered back, following to sit behind him. He remembered the warmth of her body, the smoothness of her voice calming his fears as Minerva took to the skies. One of her arms wrapped securely around his middle, her free hand on the reins. Sometimes, she’d let him hold the reins himself, her long, delicate fingers covering his own as he clutched the leather straps with a sense of wonder in his eyes._

_He remembered growing older, taking lessons from his mother. Minerva would stay on the ground, her heavy leathery wings simulating flight, and Gerome would stare down at his hands to make sure his grip on the reins was correct. His mother always made it look so natural._

_“Eyes on the sky, my dear.” Cherche would say whenever she noticed his tension. “Minerva needs your sight, as well.”_

_Minerva was patient with him as he learned, interpreting Gerome’s oftentimes clumsy instructions like she could read his mind. He remembered seeing tears in his mother’s eyes when they rose up from the ground without her for the first time._

_Gerome remembered looking down, the wind whipping his hair from his eyes, and knowing that this was where he was meant to be._

*

Gerome stared at his tent. Even though he insisted he didn’t need one, Robin arranged one anyway, its floor lined with a mix of fabrics and a single oil lamp standing in one of four corners. For the sixth time today, he reconsidered his choice.

It broke at least four of the rules he made for himself when he followed Lucina to the past. But Minerva seemed so happy to see Cherche again, and the Shepherds had a lot more resources for him to work with than he could gather himself.

From a little ways behind his tent, Gerome could hear Minerva growl softly. Accusingly. In the distance, a similar growl echoed that of his wyvern- this timeline’s Minerva, most likely. He sighed. With two Minervas around, there was no way he’d be able to lie about anything. Not even to himself. She was right, though. He didn’t join just for her, nor the sake of training.

Cherche. Gerome was used to calling his mother by her name from the times when he still searched for her, asking every stranger, hoping she managed to survive, but saying it to her face felt alien somehow. _She_ felt alien somehow. Her skin was too flawless, her smile was too.. young. Her sheer existence stung, not to mention seeing her with his father, and yet.

Yet whatever means Gerome deployed to convince himself that she was not, and never would be the mother he once knew and loved, he couldn’t help but want to protect her. Steal her away from the grabby hands of fate, and keep her safe. If he could do that, then maybe he’d be able to redeem himself. Forgive himself for letting her die in another life. And the way she looked at him when she asked him to accompany her. Accompany the Shepherds, and learn from each other.

That’s why he joined. Turns out that after all this time, he still couldn’t disobey his mother. Which is exactly why he vowed to avoid her, but that didn’t really work out. For all the strength she commended him on, Gerome felt incredibly weak.

“Hello Gerome.” Robin’s voice sounded from behind him. Gerome let the cloth door of his tent fall shut as he turned around to face them. “Do you like your tent?”

“It’ll suffice.” Gerome said. He stared Robin down from behind his mask, but they held their ground with a surprising resilience.

“Good.” They said. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, okay? Oh, and I should probably show you around camp-”

“That won’t be necessary.” Gerome interrupted. Robin regarded them quietly, hoping for a change in Gerome’s expression, but it stayed distant and cold. They gave him a somewhat uncomfortable smile, and a friendly nod.

“Right. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Robin said.

Gerome visibly relaxed once they’d turned around and left. Hopefully, news of his awful attitude would spread quickly, and everyone would leave him alone. He wasn’t here to make friends. He heard Minerva cry judgingly from behind his tent. Gerome muttered for her to mind her own business.

 

**Flames on the Blue**

> “We're not pawns of some scripted fate. I believe we're more. Much more.” -Robin

Gerome tried his best to avoid his comrades home to this timeline. He felt it was the least he could do, having already compromised the flow of fate as much as he had by joining Chrom’s army. There weren’t many of his future here: Cynthia, Owain and Severa. Their personalities about as far apart as Minervas wingspan, but all of them loud, and determined to make a difference, putting them at a fair distance from Gerome as well. He extended the same courtesies to them as he did to those of Cherche’s time (returned greetings and aid in battle when needed), but no more. They didn’t seem to mind that much, and for the first time since he joined, Gerome felt like this might actually work out. He might be able to stay an invisible force, and steer clear of any fate-altering events.

He was quickly proven wrong.

Listening in on the next battle’s briefing, Gerome nearly allowed himself to look stunned. Who in their right mind would ever think of a strategy as daft as this? Had his mother become a fool, following a lord who took everything his joker strategist said as law? As the plan was laid out to him, he quietly made his own.

For all he cared, Robin could burn down land and ocean alike, but Gerome would not let them throw his mother on that pyre. If fate must have its way, it will have to try harder than that.

He watched from the skies as the battle unfolded, keeping Minerva still despite her battle-eager twitches. He saw his fellow time travellers fight together with their parents, saw them bond, and he had to momentarily avert his eyes. He didn’t understand why they’d allow themselves to bond with these illusions, with this mirage of hope, only to have it all taken away again.

Smoke rose up from the sea, sounds of both terror and victory piercing up through its veil. Gerome carefully led Minerva lower, squinting to spot his parents through the flames. Then he saw them, Cherche hauling his father onto her Minerva’s back as he coughed and hacked from fumes. Minerva used her tail to push him up higher, and Gerome could barely hear him ask for a gentler hand, having almost choked to death. Minerva made an amused shriek, and even through the crackling embers, Gerome could hear his mother laugh.

They looked happy.

His grip went slack around Minerva’s reins. She made a worried sound, which Gerome dismissed with a short shake of his head.

“No,” He said quietly. “I am unconcerned with phantoms.”

He set his heels at Minerva’s side, and led them ahead to scout the upcoming harbour, far from fire and fantasies.

 

**Smoldering Resistance**

> “Perhaps your mission is the best way to achieve mine.” -Chrom

Gerome didn’t have to get close to see that the harbor was well guarded. The streets shone with suits of armor, and the beach was littered with spears. The narrow ways and tall buildings made the town itself nigh-impossible for Minerva to fly through, so Gerome kept his distance, and stuck to the shore. He didn’t mind at all, content watching the waves after cleaning up enemy soldiers while the others talked of resistance and uniting.

It would all be futile anyway. With or without Chrom’s aid, the resistance would fail, and the world would be thrown into chaos. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

What Gerome did appreciate was being a bit closer to an actual village. The sea had its own charms, but Minerva had few places to rest on open water, and Gerome had to serve as a scout simply because he was in possession of a flying mount. It’d be a lot easier to get feed for Minerva here, and Gerome could get his own gear checked out as well. He didn’t like going to any of his colleagues for things like that. He didn’t want to owe them.

*

_“You have that same reliable aura as your mother. When you’re older, people will come to you for aid as well.” His father said, taking a sip of his tea._

_Gerome didn’t mind that prospect. He always wanted to help his mother fight, be it chasing wolves from sheep or slaying brigands holding a bridge for toll. Winning a war. For as long as Gerome’s been old enough to understand what was going on, he wished he could help his parents fight this seemingly endless battle. Maybe then, they’d have more time to spend at home._

_“Extend a finger, and they’ll take your arm.” His father continued. “You’ll be stuck helping others forever.”_

_“..Is that a bad thing?” Gerome asked, his small fingers carefully testing the temperature of his own cup of tea. His father smiled._

_“Not at all.” He said. “When you’re strong, help those who aren’t. Just be careful who you offer your hand to. Your mother nearly tore my arm clean off.”_

_“Is that so, love?” From the kitchen, Cherche walked in with a plate of cranberry cookies. Gerome perked up instantly. “You should consider yourself lucky. If I had not taken your arm, Minerva would have taken your legs.” She smiled sweetly._

_“I never said I minded.” Gerome’s father added, a sparkle in his eyes as he looked at his wife. Cherche slapped his hand when he reached for a cookie, and offered the plate to Gerome first._

_“Go on, dear. Before your father takes them all to compensate for his poor arm.” She said._

_Gerome didn’t really get the metaphor at the age of nine, but he was more than happy to take the biggest cookie on the plate._


	2. Chapter 2

**A Man for Flowers**

> "...GYAAARRGH!" -Inigo

Word of brigands terrorizing several nearby towns reached Chrom soon after they made camp. Too soon for Gerome’s liking, but Chrom was, as always, eager to help. Gerome would blame him for being so naive, but Chrom didn’t know any better. Painful as it was to watch, watching was all Gerome could do as he looked out for the safety of his would-be parents.

The enemy seemed to have a stronghold in some kind of abandoned warehouse. With bowmen on either side, Robin suggested Gerome leave Minerva at camp this once, to ensure her safety. Gerome agreed, albeit reluctantly, and readied himself for ground combat as Robin rallied the troops.  The plan was for him and a few others to stake out at the few exits, while a small group would rush the place.

However, on the way to his assigned spot, Gerome found it occupied. With his hand on the hilt of his axe, he slowly stepped towards the stranger, ready to strike them down should they be hostile.

The stranger didn’t look that hostile, though. His stance was casual, and as Gerome got closer, he heard a voice. Was that man.. talking to himself? About buttercups? The good news was that he didn’t seem to have noticed Gerome, who managed to get close enough to have the upper hand if things turned sour. Gerome interrupted the man’s monologue.

“State your business.” Gerome said. The man immediately whipped around, eyes wide when he saw Gerome.

"...GYAAARRGH!" He said, toppling over backwards onto the grass. Gerome stared at the display, his mask hiding his frown.

“Chrom of Ylisse’s army is stationed East. Leave this place, and find safety there.” Gerome said, assuming the man was some villager who got lost on his way home.

“Chrom? So Lucina-” The man started, but then he quickly shook his head. He sprung to his feet with surprising grace. “Wait, no, who are you? And what’s with the villainous costume? You nearly scared my smallclothes off!”

“W-who I am is none of your concern!” Gerome said, suddenly quite uncomfortable. Villainous costume? Smallclothes? What was this bizarre man babbling about?

The man ran a hand through his hair, studied Gerome for a second, and then seemed to decide on something.

“You don’t look like an enemy. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Inigo.” He extended his hand.

Gerome glanced down at Inigo’s hand, and then back up at his face, ignoring the gesture completely. The stranger dropped his hand with an awkward smile.

“Alright, not the talkative type. That’s okay. We’ll try later. For now, I have some rogues to put out of business. Do excuse me!”

“Wait, it’s dangerous-” Gerome tried, but Inigo had already run off, unsheathing a sword as he stormed the building with a call of.. snookums? This man was.. Something else.

Yet, Gerome brandished his axe and set to follow him. There was no way this Inigo person would be able to keep all those brigands at bay with a single sword. He’d get himself killed like that, and Robin would have Gerome’s head for letting an innocent bystander die.

It seemed Gerome’s predictions were spot on, as he caught up just in time to cut down a sorcerer casting a fire spell. Flecks of flames dissolved around him, and Inigo jolted at his sudden appearance.

“GAH! Oh, it’s you again. You should really stop sneaking up on me like that!” He said, brushing ashes off the sleeves of his shirt. A shirt that would have been burnt entirely along with his body if Gerome hadn’t stepped in just now.

“I am not sneaking up on you.” Gerome said, already scanning their surroundings for more enemies. “And you’d do well to get out of my way.” He added, stepping past Inigo into one of the many corridors. As he turned a corner, he heard Inigo shouting after him to not take all his kills.

*

As it turned out, Inigo was Olivia’s son. A fellow time traveller. Gerome wasn’t too surprised at not recognizing him- he was one of the last to enter the Gate, and they were all separated during the journey. Who knows who else joined them. The important thing was that whatever Inigo came here to do, it was none of Gerome’s business.

In fact, Gerome would’ve been fine with never seeing or speaking to him again. However, on the next day, there was knocking at Gerome’s tent (or scratching, really- you can’t knock on a tent). Gerome ignored it at first, but the noise stayed. After a few more moments, Gerome opened his tent, planning to glare at whoever was disturbing him until they left. He was met with a blindingly bright smile.

Needless to say, Gerome’s glare was ineffective.

“Hello again!” Inigo said. He extended his hand.

“Why are you here.” Gerome said.

Inigo sighed, and dropped his hand. “I came to introduce myself. I’ll be fighting alongside you.”

“That’s great. You can go now.” Gerome said, already moving to go back inside his tent.

“Hey, wait-” Inigo reached out, grabbing onto Gerome’s shoulder. “You never gave me your name.”

“You don’t need my name.” Gerome glared down at Inigo’s hand, but once again, Inigo seemed immune.

“C’mon, if we’re going to be comrades, can’t you at least tell me your name? I’d like to know who I’m charging into battle with.” Inigo tried. Gerome turned to face him, and plucked Inigo’s hand off his shoulder.

“Gerome. Now you can leave.” He said. Inigo frowned.

“Well, I was hoping we could get to know each other..” He said.

“I have no desire to ‘get to know’ you.” Gerome said.

“Right. I’ll just, get out of the way of that death stare then. I’ll see you around!” Inigo waved once more, flashed a bright (if not somewhat forced) smile, and sauntered off. Gerome watched until Inigo disappeared behind one of the camp's tents, ensuring he’d be left alone.

 

**Naga’s Voice**

> “I don't think I've ever felt so small…” -Lissa

The Mila Tree was humbling to behold. Its upper branches brushed the clouds, and sieved sunlight through their leaves. Flooded in the tree’s shadow, everyone stared up, and for a very rare moment, Chrom’s army was joined in awed silence.

Sounds of violence coming from the path to the shrine killed the quiet. Rudely reminded of their purpose here, Robin prepared the troops for battle.

Gerome was, once again, an easy pick. He had the advantage when terrain was rocky (or root-y), and he could travel long distances in a short time. Cherche got ready to fight as well, though it looked like Gerome’s father was going to sit this one out. (This was good. Despite having lost them both, Gerome found his mother to be infinitely more capable of defending herself than his father.)

Gerome watched his mother check the straps on Minerva’s armor. The younger Wyvern acted rowdier than usual, and Cherche petted and praised her with a gentle hand before she mounted. Gerome’s own Minerva seemed eager to join the fray as well, likely insulted by the enemy’s attack on sacred ground. Wyverns have always been prideful creatures.

Once everyone was ready, they engaged the enemy. Robin warned to be mindful of the tree’s roots, advising not only a careful step, but to avoid damaging the ground they fought on. Gerome’s biggest foe in this battle wasn’t the terrain, nor Cervantes. It were visions- no, memories, of a sky black with smoke while the Mila Tree burned. It was almost saddening, if Gerome would allow himself to feel that kind of thing, to watch everyone’s hope grow stronger with each fight.

Seeing it root, branch out, knowing that it will all be burned to the ground.

*

_“Mother!” Gerome fell into a sprint once he spotted Cherche, and she squatted down, opening her arms to receive his panicked embrace. The sky was red with fire. “Why is there so much smoke?”_

_“There there.” Cherche soothed him, gentle strokes of her hands through his hair, and Gerome could feel himself calm down already. “Don’t you fret, my dear. Your father is already off to help put out the fire.”_

_Gerome nodded against her soot-covered armor. With his father on the job, things would surely be okay. He drew a breath to speak, only to fall into a coughing fit. Cherche effortlessly tore off a piece of her sleeve, checked it for ashes, and then offered it to Gerome._

_“Breathe through this.” She said. “Like so.” She gently held the cloth to his nose. Gerome carefully breathed in, calmed by the familiar scent of his mother’s perfume. When the smoke didn’t sting his lungs, he looked up at her in wonder, like she had shown him how to burn water. She smiled, and tucked a stray lock of hair back behind Gerome’s ear._

_“Good boy. I have to go help your father now. Stay inside, alright?” She said, straightening and calling for Minerva. Gerome wanted desperately to cling to her, but he let her go, clutching the piece of her sleeve to his face. He watched as she mounted Minerva, and forced a smile when she waved at him._

*

Minerva shrieked her annoyance at Gerome’s distracted handling of her reins. He quickly adjusted his hold, and set out to clean up a few final soldiers while Robin and Chrom confronted Cervantes. From the other side of the battlefield, his mother waved cheerfully when she saw him. No smoke, no soot, both sleeves in one piece.

Gerome looked away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Inexorable Death**

> “And as for your “future”, it can kiss my big brown Feroxi arse!” -Khan Basilio

Gerome knew the look on Lucina’s face. That tightness which spun across her features whenever she tried to feign innocence. When she tried to pretend she didn’t already know how things were going to end. Tried to pretend her hope wasn’t slowly slipping away, dripping down the blades that slayed rebellion troops one by one.

This battle had been over before it started. And the one after was going to be even worse. People will die today, they’ll die tomorrow, and they’ll keep dying until there’s no one left alive.

It wasn’t any of Gerome’s business. He was only here to make sure his parents wouldn’t join the ranks of the dead. Not just yet.

Still, seeing Lucina like this made him sympathetic. It looked so painful to believe.

And it was painful to see her believe, too. They were close friends in childhood, sharing big dreams and tall stories, plus a healthy dose of love and pride for their respective families. As Chrom’s first heir, Lucina was naturally protected, and as a result she didn’t go out much. During Cherche’s many visits to the castle, they’d play with wooden swords and tea-towel capes, until Lucina grew tired of the walls around her.

It was Gerome who taught her to scale those walls and hide in prickly bushes, and when they grew older, it was Gerome who picked her up from her bedroom window, while the guards pretended not to notice the huge shadow Minerva cast. Their escapades were the worst kept secret of Ylisse, something Chrom and Cherche would smile about over tea, but in the minds of their children they were great adventures.

Lucina had always been a bit nervous to get rides from Minerva. She would fluster, shuffle her feet and loudly deny her evident nervousness. She’d insist on mounting the Wyvern without Gerome’s help, but once seated, she’d cling to Gerome’s cape with a force that made its fibers crack under her fingers, restless until both her feet were back on the ground.

Gerome used to tease her about it, in the past. Future. Past. In fact, he was already thinking of using this “weakness” of hers as an appropriate way to lighten the mood (which proved to be challenging in the midst of a war- Things had changed so much, and not even a friendship forged in childhood could withstand those trials).

However, when he pulled Lucina up onto Minerva to fly her across the battlefield, she took the passenger’s seat without a hint of anxiety. Not a shiver on her skin, not a shake in her bones. Her posture was almost as solid as Gerome’s, and he practically grew up on a wyvern’s back.

“You don’t seem to mind being airborne.” Gerome commented idly. From behind him, Lucina raised her voice just enough for him to hear.

“War changes many things.” She said.

“Did war leave you fearless?” Gerome asked.

“No.” Lucina admitted. “But it has taught me how insignificant my fears have been.”

“We were children.” Gerome said. He was trying. Trying to be considerate, to be the friend he was in their shared future. Lucina’s laughter was fleeting, but it stung.

“Who we were does not matter here.” She said. Gerome resisted the urge to agree. Who he was did not matter, indeed. But Lucina, she was different. She rallied an army past the laws of time and space.

“Who you were is what sent us here.” Gerome said. “Your hopes, and your fears. Would you cast aside your identity to save a future that does not belong to you?” The truth was unforgiving. The sooner she realized that, the easier it would be. The less it would hurt.

Minerva shifted into a glide as they approached the drop-off point. Lucina straightened, her hand on the hilt of her blade. She prepared to jump as Gerome led his wyvern closer to the ground. He couldn’t read the look in her eyes.

“You have cast aside yours to do nothing.” Lucina then said. “You are in no position to question my actions.”

And with that, she jumped, leaving Gerome stunned. The truth was unforgiving, and he knew it was.

But that didn’t make it hurt less.

 

**Gerome & Lucina: C Support**

> “You sell yourself short.” -Lucina

Gerome stood awkwardly before Lucina’s closed tent. She retreated shortly after Khan Basilio’s departure, her steps rushed by the desire to hide her emotions. Gerome knew the feeling well.

He regretted the things he said during their last battle. Lucina had done nothing but fight tirelessly since her return, for a greater good she has yet to lose sight of, and Gerome had no right to speak of battles he refused to fight himself.

So he’d come to apologize, but now that he was facing the plain canvas of her tent’s door, the words escaped him. He huffed out a frustrated sigh, and was about to turn on his heel when Lucina’s slender, scar-littered hands opened the door. With one look at her face, Gerome could tell that she’d been crying. He immediately felt uncomfortable.

“Lucina.” He said, but she gave him no room to continue. Her still shimmering eyes scanned for bystanders, and her voice sounded soft when she invited him inside. Gerome nodded stiffly, and followed.

They sat opposite of one another, Lucina with her hands on her knees, and Gerome staring down at his knuckles. A few moments passed in silence. Just as Gerome drew a breath to retry his apology, Lucina spoke first.

“I.. owe you an apology.” Lucina said.

Gerome blinked, surprised. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lucina raised her hand. Gerome pressed his lips together.

“It was wrong of me to suggest you have done nothing for our purpose.” She continued. Her voice regained more and more of its usual strength with every word, while Gerome felt his own strength being sapped away. She should not be apologizing. Of all the people he’d hear an apology from. Not her. “If it wasn’t for you, I would not have been able to intercept as soon as I have. Though fate has its ways to render my actions inconsequential.”

Gerome could see her curl her fingers against her knees. Once again, he knew the feeling she spoke of, and he too knew what befell Khan Basilio.

“I did nothing of the sort.” Gerome finally dared to interrupt. “I simply lent you a mask. Anyone could have performed such a task.”

“You sell yourself short.” Lucina said. “You lent me more than just a mask. You lent me an ear, advice when I most needed it, and an ally in battles too close for anyone’s comfort. You’ve been my friend, Gerome.” She drew a breath, forcing herself to take a break from her tumbling words.  “And I dismissed your friendship. I’m sorry.”

Gerome felt like he had both Falchions lodged between his ribs. There was nothing he could say that would be an appropriate response, so he stayed quiet, as if the conversation would go away as long as he continued to ignore it. Lucina, however, didn't give him the chance.

"Ah, and I must also apologize for dragging you in here to listen to me. You were at my tent for a reason, I assume?" Lucina shook off all the sadness previously fixed in her expression with a casual brush of fingers through her hair. Her smile was polite, not a grain of vulnerability left in her features. Even with a mask, Gerome could never appear that strong. He envied her.

“It’s nothing.” Gerome lied. He got up from the tent’s thin floor, and adjusted his mask. They exchanged greetings, and Gerome left.

Back at his own tent, Minerva made a concerned sound at the sight of him. Gerome wordlessly approached, and sat down to lean against her side. For a while, he just listened to her breathing.

“What are we doing here, Minny.” Gerome sighed, slumping a bit further against the leathery wings of his wyvern. She turned her neck, and nipped at his hair.

Minerva always knew what to say.


	4. Chapter 4

**Daughter to Dragons**

Stories of Risen taking over an old mansion were welcome, for a change. A battle without guilt, and if they got lucky, maybe some discarded treasure. The Shepherds needed no convincing to take the detour, though their motivation dwindled at the sight of their destination.

The Manor of Lost Souls was.. unsettling. Cries of Risen bounced off the damp walls, and mold stuck to the air. When a girl’s scream sounded shrill above all else, Gerome shivered- He could think of quite a few places he’d rather be.

“It’s pretty, er, atmospheric, huh?” Inigo said, trailing a short ways behind Gerome as they combed through the southern hallways. Robin kept saying the two of them made a good pair in battle, but Gerome was sure they paired them up specifically to torture him.

“Keep up.” Gerome said as he turned one of many corners. “I won’t wait for you.”

Inigo immediately jogged his way back up to Gerome’s side. He was nervous, clearly, but in suspiciously high spirits regardless. Gerome found himself stealing sidelong glances, annoyed, yet fascinated.

“When we find her, you should go report back to Robin right away.” Inigo said. Gerome raised an eyebrow.

“Find who?” He asked. Inigo gave him an incredulous look.

“Our damsel in distress, of course! The reason we’re here?”

Ah. That would explain Inigo’s enthusiasm.

“Chrom mentioned hearing a child’s scream.” Gerome commented.

“A _girl’s_ scream.” Inigo corrected. “And many women have light voices. Oh, she must be terrified, lost in a place like this..”

Gerome rolled his eyes. If they did find her, there was no way he’d leave her alone with Inigo. A life spent wandering this manor would be a gentler fate.

“You’re not even the smallest bit interested?” Inigo asked a few moments later, eying Gerome curiously.

“No.” Gerome answered resolutely. Inigo stared at him a bit longer, and clicked his tongue.

“Well, good.” He said. “You’d probably frighten her, anyway.”

“Why would I frighten her?” Gerome asked.

“Have you seen yourself? You’re a walking talking version of those creepy statues lined along the walls!” Inigo said. “And that glare isn’t helping.”

Gerome looked at some of the statues they passed by. He frowned.  
“Those look nothing like me.” 

“Well, yes, the statues are a tad taller.” Inigo hummed. Gerome withheld the urge to groan. It was going to be a long day.

*

That evening, Nah joined their ranks. Gerome sat through her introduction, having learned by now that avoiding any interaction would only achieve the opposite. And Nah wasn’t that bad. She seemed responsible, and she acted rationally. A bit too curious for Gerome’s liking, but if that was all, he couldn’t complain. After all, Manateke are a strong ally in battle, and they needed all the help they could get.

Inigo seemed more than happy to welcome another woman to camp. Probably because all the others had rejected his advances by now, Gerome thought. Inigo had better be careful with Nah, or he’d be getting bad blood with a dragon.

The thought of Nah chasing Inigo around camp while spewing fire was a bit more amusing to Gerome than it should have been, but he allowed himself to enjoy the silver lining of a long and tiring day.

 

**Gerome & Cherche: C Support **

Gerome learned a hemming stitch when his mother made him the wrong size shirt. He was already frozen like a statue, waiting for her to grab the pins, but she told him to take off the shirt and sit down with her instead. Gerome hemmed his own shirt that afternoon, and felt particularly proud of his accomplishment (not much prouder than Cherche, though).

He learned a basting stitch by accident, having grabbed some of his mother’s dark fabric with the intention to fashion himself a cape. When Cherche found him parading around in a barely held-together jumble of curtain cloth, she took him out to the market for a more suitable fabric, and then taught him a more suitable stitch. After that, back stitches soon became Gerome’s favorite- sturdy, all-purpose and precise.

Sewing made Gerome feel at peace. There was nothing but him, fabric, and silence.

“What a lovely stitch.” Cherche’s voice startled Gerome into pricking himself. He pulled a face at his finger, and pressed his thumb against the tiny wound to keep it from bleeding.

“Oh, did I startle you? I’m sorry.” Cherche sat down by Gerome’s side, ignoring how he leant away when she approached. She took Gerome’s hand, and pulled a small bandage from her pocket. Gerome stubbornly kept his fingers pressed together.

“You didn’t. And I don’t need help.” Gerome said, voicing what his body language had already articulated quite clearly.

Cherche didn’t care. She met Gerome’s glare with calm, piercing eyes, and Gerome knew that he wouldn’t be able to stare her down. He opened his hand to her, and watched quietly as she bandaged up his finger. Some things hadn’t changed, it seemed.

Once she was done, Cherche’s lovely, harmless-looking smile returned. Gerome pulled his hand back and picked up the shirt he was mending. Maybe, if he continued to ignore her, she’d go away on her own. He tried to keep his hands steady as he worked, feeling his mother’s eyes on his fingers.

“Did I teach you to sew?” Cherche then asked.

“No.” Gerome said curtly. “My mother did.”

“..I see.”

Gerome heard a sliver of hurt in Cherche’s voice, and bit the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t his fault. He had made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with her. Many times! She was doing this to herself.

“Well, I think your mother would be very proud.” Cherche said, after a moment of silence. She raised herself up from Gerome’s side, brushed down her clothes, and left. Gerome kept his eyes on his work. Once her footsteps had faded, Gerome’s needle stilled. The bandage on his finger felt like it was burning through his skin.

“My mother is dead.” He whispered, to no one in particular.

 

**Gerome & Nah: C Support**

The road to the volcano was long and exhausting. The troops were tired and anxious, and while Robin and Chrom did their best to keep everyone going, even they were starting to shown signs of fear. Between setting the sea on fire, and storming a fort they should have run from, there have been crazier plans in Robin’s head than seeking shelter in the mouth of a volcano.

But recently, Robin’s trademark strategies were getting more and more expensive, and they were paid for with lives of allies. Victory came with a bitter aftertaste, and these days, especially after Khan Basilio’s departure, hope was more important than ever. Hope that there would be an end to this battle. Hope that in a year from now, they’d be rebuilding the cities they’ve seen burned.

Gerome was training when Robin approached.

“I haven’t seen you at supper all week.” Robin said. Gerome ignored them, and continued slashing at a stack of hay. Robin had his ear in battle, but this was no mission, and Gerome had no desire to spend his free time chatting. Especially not with someone so determined to ‘bond’. Robin’s friendliness annoyed him. It felt shallow. There was no point forging bonds, anyway.

He was expecting Robin to heave a few heavy sighs, and walk away. What he wasn’t expecting was for Robin to suddenly step in the way of Gerome’s axe, forcing him to flail in order to avoid them.

Stunned and bewildered, Gerome dropped his axe at his side. His hands were shaking with what almost happened, and for a moment, he felt nothing at all.

“Now do I have your attention?” Robin asked.

The nothingness inside Gerome turned into rage.

“What in Fate’s name is wrong with you?!” He shouted, his hands balling into fists. “I could have struck you down!”

Robin gave him a studying look. Gerome hated that look. They were always so calm, so calculating. Gerome wasn’t going to be a pawn in whatever game they were playing.

“You could have.” They said. “But you didn’t.”

Gerome felt so angry he could barely speak. His nails pressed sharp crescents into his palms.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Gerome picked up his weapon. “Minerva, to me!”

*

Gerome didn’t get too far. He had to be careful about enemy troops patrolling the skies, and he didn’t want to tire Minerva before their battle at the volcano. On the edge of the forest, Gerome sat with his back against a tree while Minerva drank from a nearby stream. She looked up at him when he sighed, and he tipped his head back against the tree-trunk.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He told her. “It’s too insane. All of it. Everyone. I want,” Another sigh, followed by a bitter-sounding chuckle. “We don’t have a home anymore, do we?”

There was a rustling from behind some bushes. Both Gerome and Minerva sat alert at the sound.

“Who’s there?” Gerome called, gripping the handle of his axe. “Show yourself!”

A small, fragile-looking girl emerged from the foliage. She picked some twigs from her braids, and gave a particularly disgruntled sigh. Gerome let go of his weapon.

“Nah.” He said plainly. She sighed again.

“I was certain you wouldn’t find me this time.” She said, and Gerome frowned.

“This time?” He asked, looking to Minerva, who was busy greeting Nah. The two of them got along.

“Never mind that.” Nah said. “What are you doing all the way out here? A bit far for gathering firewood.”

“I..” Gerome considered telling her what happened with Robin. Better not. She’d just meddle.   
“I could ask you the same.” He ended up saying. Nah frowned at him as she petted Minerva’s nose.

“If you won’t answer me, I won’t answer you.” She said.

“Fine.” Gerome said, glaring at her.

“Fine.” Nah crossed her arms.

Minerva looked between the two as they stared each other down. Then, she shrieked. Gerome flinched at the sound, and gave Minerva a pleading look, but she seemed to have none of it. Gerome and Nah both looked from Minerva, to each other, and back again.

“I needed some time away from camp.” Gerome admitted. Nah’s expression softened.

“Me too.” She said. “I get antsy if I don’t take breaks to stretch my wings.”

Minerva shrieked again, a lot friendlier this time. Gerome’s features softened as well.

“Minerva agrees.” He translated. Nah smiled, and nodded at Minerva in approval.

“Nothing like some rampaging to clear the mind.” She said.

“I wouldn’t know.” Gerome said. This was about the time where he felt he’d conversed long enough.

“A shame.” Nah sighed. “Though I suppose you could just go berserk on some bushes, or something.”

“That sounds… unnecessary.” Gerome said, somehow cautious. “And dangerous.”

“You sound like Robin.” Nah said, and from her tone, Gerome could deduce that this was not a good thing. Before he got a chance to ask, Nah reached for her Dragonstone. Gerome squinted as she transformed within a veil of bright light.

“It’s getting late, I’m going back.” Nah said. Her echoing voice left Gerome’s ears ringing. “See you at camp!”

Gerome watched as she flew off, and didn’t move until Minerva nudged his shoulder. He looked at her, and she shrieked quietly.

“No,” He said sternly. “We’re not going to go berserk on some bushes.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Shadow in the Sand**

As far as Gerome was concerned, every village in this make believe future was a mirage village. Yet, when Robin and Chrom set out to chase after unlikely outcomes (once again), Gerome was shown the difference between what he perceived as surreal, and what actually _was_ surreal.

It was hotter than the blue of a fire. Even with Minerva, hovering safely above scorching ground, Gerome found the heat nigh unbearable. In retrospect, Robin might have been right this time- It was hard to differentiate between what was real or not when wind-swept sand moved like fog across the desert. However, the thought of setting out on foot was far worse, so Gerome settled for returning empty-handed.

Just as he came back to the agreed meeting point, Nah returned as well. Her large, scaled wings shimmered in the unforgiving sunlight, and everyone waited for her to transform back, so that they could look at her without being blinded.

But she didn’t change back.

“..Nah?” Chrom asked cautiously.

“It’s too hot.” Nah whined in her echoing voice. Among his allies, Gerome found a mix of confusion and amusement at hearing such a powerful creature complain like the young girl she shared her form with. It made sense, though. As a dragon, Nah would have a much bigger tolerance of heat, and the sand wouldn’t irritate a dragon’s skin. If Gerome had the opportunity, he’d probably prefer to be a dragon as well. (Or a Wyvern.)

Chrom shook off his hesitation, and turned to Gerome instead. As soon as they made eye contact, Gerome shook his head, knowing what Chrom was about to ask.

“Nothing, then.” Chrom said, just to confirm it.

“Nothing.” Gerome repeated.

“It seems the mirage village remains just that.” Chrom sighed. “Best we return our attention to-”

“Chrom!” A voice came from the sky.

From a little while away, Robin came flying in on the back of Cherche’s Wyvern. Gerome looked at his mother (Cherche, _not_ his mother), absently noting that she didn’t seem taken by the heat at all. Her clothes leaked sand and her hair stuck to her skin, but her composure was flawless and her voice carried clear. Gerome looked away.

“Robin? What is it?” Chrom asked, immediately approaching. Gerome noticed that nothing makes Chrom sound as worried, as Robin sounding worried. Gerome turned away, about to undo the clasps of Minerva’s armor, when he overheard Robin speak in a lowered voice, as to not alert the others.

“It’s Cynthia and Inigo. We can’t find them anywhere. They should have reported in by now.”

Gerome frowned. Even if he wasn’t supposed to hear this, Robin managed to sound infuriatingly calm for someone announcing they’ve lost two comrades.

“Have you checked the villages we’ve found?” Chrom asked, doing a horrible job at whispering.

“We’ve checked them thrice,” Robin said. “None of the villagers recognized the descriptions we gave, or had even seen any strangers at all. Chrom, if,”

Their voices got even quieter after that. Gerome looked at Minerva, his hand still on the clasp of her headpiece. She looked at him with her big, dark eyes, and huffed out a little breath.

“I will sweep the area again,” Cherche announced, brushing down her armor in preparation of mounting her own Minerva once more. “They can’t have vanished.”

And despite her flawless appearance, Gerome knew she was tired. He could hear it in her flawless voice, the slight scratch of sand having been coughed from her throat. Gerome’s hand balled into a fist. He sighed.

“I’ll go.” Gerome said. Cherche paused, and looked at him. Gerome refused to meet her eyes, and turned to Chrom instead. “Minerva is more than capable of carrying them both, if need be.”

Chrom seemed to doubt Gerome’s decision, but Robin handed Gerome an extra flask of water, like they already knew there wouldn’t be any merit in trying to change his mind.

“We’ll expect you back, Gerome.” Robin said. Gerome withheld the urge to scoff, and threw Robin a short nod instead. He mounted Minerva, who flapped her wings eagerly, and they took to the spotless sky.

He regretted it as soon as the meeting place was out of sight. Every part of this damned desert looked the same, it was all shrouded, sandy, dry air shaking with heat. The best hope Cynthia and Inigo had was to seek out one of the villages, and stay there.

Gerome wiped his hair from his face. He felt sweaty under his mask, but it did help keep the sand from his eyes. He considered returning to the others, but the thought made his stomach stir with something sour. He couldn’t give up yet. They had to be out there somewhere. Waiting.

Inigo had to be waiting. He didn’t have a flying mount, and Pegasi just didn’t deal with these surroundings as well as Wyverns and Dragons did. Cynthia’s Pegasus must have gotten too fatigued to carry them both back. That’s all. They didn’t get into a skirmish with the bandits they’d encountered all over this desert. They couldn’t have gotten hurt. Cynthia enjoyed playing hero, but surely Inigo had the responsibility to stop her from overexertion.

Gerome sighed as he repeated that thought to himself. There was no way Inigo could stop Cynthia, even if it had occurred in that happy, ignorant mind of his. She has the energy of an army combined, a brand of optimism you just _can’t_ deny, and Inigo was far too sensitive to the charms of a woman to begin with.

Gerome dug his heels a little further into Minerva’s side, speeding up his search. He had to find them.

*

An hour later, Gerome was still flying, face scrunched up in concentration as he peered onto the sands below for any sign of movement, any sign of life. The sun was hanging low in the sky, stabbing at his eyes, but at least this meant the blazing heat would dim soon. Unfortunately, dusk also meant even poorer visibility. He didn’t have much time left.

And like Fate herself heard the worry in Gerome’s mind, at that moment, he saw a shadow in the sand. Guiding Minerva to fly lower, the shadow took the form of a man. One, lone man would not be a bandit unless deserted by his allies, and even if that were the case, he’d pose no threat. Unfortunately, finding just one shadow when Gerome was out looking for two, shook the hope that he’d found his comrades.

Still, holding onto that single strand of frayed hope, Gerome descended. Taking the extra flask of water, he gave what was left of his own to Minerva, and led her by the reins as he continued on foot.

It was even worse that way. Every step sunk into fine, hot sand, and the wind bit at his skin. Not even his mask could protect him from the clouds of dust swirling around him. With one arm slung around his face to protect his mouth and nose, and the other hooked into Minerva’s reins, Gerome kept moving towards the shadow.

At least he hadn’t imagined it. There was definitely someone there, slumped against a hollowed out building that was once a house. As Gerome got closer, he recognized the shadow as Inigo. Even closer, Gerome found that it was pretty admirable of him to have recognized Inigo at all- He was a mess.

“Gerome..?” He croaked, and his voice sounded like nails on sandpaper. It made Gerome want to wince (but he didn’t). Instead, he looked around for any sign of Cynthia or her Pegasus.

“Where’s Cynthia?” He asked Inigo, squatting down by his side while unhooking the water flask from his belt. Inigo smiled, or tried to at least, his exhaustion rendering his expression into not much more than a lazy curl of his lips.

“She’s, I sent her,” He interrupted himself with a violent cough, and Gerome felt stupid for not offering him some water first. Fate knows how long Inigo’s been waiting for someone to find him, and here Gerome was, immediately asking after someone else without even bothering to check on Inigo’s well-being. No wonder they can’t get along.

In an attempt to redeem himself, Gerome opened the flask of water and held it up to Inigo’s dry lips. Thankfully, it looked like he could still move, as he took the flask from Gerome’s hands and drank like he’d been parched for weeks, excess water trickling from the corners of his mouth. Gerome watched quietly as Inigo emptied the entire thing. Once he was done, he stared at the flask a bit guiltily, and then back up at Gerome.

“Cynthia’s on her way back with Laurent.” Inigo said, uninterrupted this time. Gerome frowned.

“Laurent?” He asked. He never heard that name before.

“Yes, he’s like, one of us.” Inigo tried to explain. Gerome still looked a bit confused, though. “Miriel’s son.” Inigo added, and now Gerome understood. Inigo coughed out a laugh.

“He was looking for the village too.” He continued, sounding strangely amused through his obvious weariness. Gerome felt like he should stop him from talking too much, remind him of the need to conserve his energy, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “In full-on Mage’s garb, and a hat..” Inigo made hand motions. “Big hat, just like Miriel.” Inigo giggled, and for a moment, Gerome thought his ally had lost his mind to the heat.

But Inigo’s eyes shone clear. Tired, but clear, and his face showed no signs of insanity. Inigo hadn’t gone mad. He was just making fun of someone’s hat. Gerome wasn’t sure if he felt relief or annoyance. But Inigo wasn’t done talking yet.

“‘T was crazy, Gerome,” He continued, a slur slipping into his voice, and Gerome decided that Inigo could blab all he wanted, but he had to get him to Minerva right now. Inigo stumbled as Gerome helped him stand, leaning heavily onto his shoulder. “Found him with bandits, bunch of ‘m, and Cynthia just stormed at them, she left me to run!” He sounded a bit insulted at this, and Gerome bit back a chuckle.

“Fight left us all tired,” Inigo said, though he really didn’t have to, because it was pretty clear that he was tired. “Sent Cynthia to bring Laurent back. Heroic rescue, y’know.”

At this point, Gerome had just started humming and nodding his head whenever Inigo dropped a pause. At least as long as he was talking, he wasn’t passing out. And that was good, because they still had to make their way back.

Inigo rambled on as Gerome pretty much pushed him up on Minerva’s back, mumbling about knowing the way, but the heat made him forget, or something. By the time Gerome took off, Inigo had gone silent.

Squinting against the sandy sky, Gerome looked back over his shoulder to find Inigo draped heavily against him, his eyes closed and his lips parted. He was going to get a mouthful of sand like that, but Gerome could feel him shift with steady breaths, and that was enough for now.

All he could hope for was that Cynthia and Laurent made it back while he was out looking for them.

*

Robin _ran_ towards them when Gerome landed, carrying an armful of refilled water flasks, and much as Gerome wanted to deny it, he was thankful that Robin always seemed to know what to do. He had expected everyone’s attention to immediately go to Inigo, who was almost sliding off of Minerva now that Gerome’s body no longer held him up, but Robin gave the first flask to Gerome.

“Are you alright?” They said, and Gerome looked down at the bottle he’d been handed.

“Did Cynthia,” He started, and Robin nodded without waiting for the full question.

“They arrived just now, and are being taken care of as we speak. Both are fine.” Robin’s gaze slid to Inigo, and turned into a worried frown when they noticed Inigo was now horizontally draped over Minerva’s back, drooling onto her saddle in his sleep. Gerome followed Robin’s stare, and awkwardly ran a hand through his hair.

“He’s alright.” Gerome said. “The fool had enough sense to wait in the shade.”

Robin smiled. “Thank you, Gerome.”

“It’s nothing.” Gerome mumbled quickly. He watched as Gregor came around to hoist Inigo off of Minerva, all but throwing him over his shoulder to take him to the tent serving as an infirmary.

*

Gerome slipped away from camp as soon as he got the chance. After all of today’s events, he was exhausted, physically, mentally and socially, and he needed some time to himself. With Minerva in tow, Gerome headed for a stream he knew was nearby, and began unclasping Minerva’s armor.

Minerva seemed very pleased to finally get out of her heavy garments, and while she’s normally not a fan of getting wet, the first thing she did was sit down in the middle of the stream, letting her wings dip into the running water. Gerome watched her fondly, and looked around for a moment.

No one was here.

Carefully, Gerome peeled his mask from his face. He grimaced at the condition of the leather, stained with sweat and sand, and he set it aside for now as he splashed water into his face. It wasn’t the cleanest water, but it was far cleaner than his skin had been, and Gerome felt some of the weariness of the day being washed off with the dirt.

The mask was next, and he held it underwater for a second, carefully rubbing off lingering grains of sand. He almost dried it on his sleeves, and then realized that this would only make it dirty again (if not dirtier). He sighed, and set the mask down by the side of the stream instead, giving it time to dry on a heap of pebbles.

He sat down next to it, unwilling to go too far, and leant back onto his hand. Breathing in the cool, evening air, he squinted at Minerva splashing water at him, but his eyes were smiling. He felt oddly satisfied.

Not like a hero, of course. If he hadn’t gone out to find Inigo, someone else would have. Inigo would’ve probably made it back himself at some point, with more time. His intervention wasn’t needed.

But it helped.

Gerome had helped, and this was a strange, new sensation. Of course he’d played his part in earlier missions, battles, rescues.. but this was different. Those other things didn’t _feel_ like helping. This did. For as much as Gerome wanted to avoid familiarizing with his allies, having helped them made him feel better.

Hopeful? A little. He couldn’t really explain why, but it was nice, and he was tired. He wouldn’t fight it. Not now.

“Ah, here you are.” A voice sounded nearby.

Gerome shot up, and scrambled for his mask. His sudden movement startled Minerva, who shrieked and splashed wildly, leaving Gerome’s shirt soaked and his hair drenched.

“Oops.” The voice added.

Gerome turned when his mask was in place, finding Inigo in fresh, clean clothes wearing a fresh, clean smile. Once again, Gerome wasn’t sure if he felt relief or annoyance.

“What do you want.” Gerome muttered, trying to fashion his dripping hair into something decent. “Should you even be up?”

“Can’t keep me down for long.” Inigo said, showing Gerome a smile that felt like it was intended for someone else. He frowned, irritated, and left his hair be. (It was hopeless, anyway.)

“Lissa sent me to come fetch you.” Inigo explained, tilting his head a bit as he looked at Gerome. “It’s your turn to get checked up.”

“I’m fine.” He said. Inigo chuckled, and Gerome could still hear a small scratch in the sound.

“I’m sure you are. But I will not be if I return without you.” He said. “Let’s not get Lissa mad, hmm?”

Gerome glared at Inigo for a moment longer, but his wet-cat status wasn’t doing much for his ability to intimidate others. Inigo stared right back at him, unfazed. Gerome muttered something foul under his breath, and began gathering Minerva’s discarded armor. When Inigo reached down to help, Gerome stopped him with a short “No”.

“You have to rest.” Gerome said. Inigo raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded.

Neither of them said a word as they walked back to camp, and when Lissa later asked Gerome why his hair was wet, Gerome grumbled like an angry child, and told her it was nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Intermission #1**

Laurent was a builder. It wasn’t the aura he radiated, nor the talent one would expect him to have, but he knew when to reach out, and where to throw rope. Everything and everyone around him would find themselves woven into whatever intricate pattern he’d devised, and sooner or later, their arms would hold hands. Laurent bridged gaps.

Gerome wondered if Laurent did it on purpose. To have such a power would be almost impossible to ignore, yet Laurent’s dedication to rationale and the acquisition of knowledge seemed to eliminate room for any other focus in his life. He was dedicated to intelligence in the same way a child dedicated to their fantasies- and yet, even in situations that appeared most inappropriate for a rational approach, Laurent was sensitive and understanding.

Yet another comrade to be envious of.

That was Gerome’s initial response, anyway. Introductions had, Gerome found kin in Laurent simply because they both had been travelling alone. Both had been forced into a strength neither of them truly possessed. Gerome was still riding the waves of this illusion, waiting for it to become truth.

Laurent, however, _made_ it truth. He became who fate demanded him to be. He conjured sandstorms in the palm of his hand, he could tell Gerome the name of every star in the clear night sky. He worked for his mother’s approval without a hint of grief in his solemn features. He never once called her by name.

How someone so immeasurably smart could act so.. naive. It was beyond Gerome. But Gerome was in no position to judge. His own approach seemed no less naive, contradicting his beliefs, clinging onto hope he denied to have. At least Laurent had honesty.

Maybe that’s what kindled their friendship.

Or maybe Gerome overlooked Laurent. Underestimated him. For someone who was at first glance just some bookworm, obsessed with facts, percentages, experiments and anything one would call science.. Laurent was so very human. He understood the delicate art of conversation, he had a flawless grasp of sensitivity, despite his archaic manner of speech and seemingly odd approach to problems.

Where Gerome thought he could connect to Laurent on a level of realism, sharing the knowledge that indeed, life is cruel, and death even more so, Laurent did more than just agree. He argued. He challenged fate, for it had not been rewritten yet, and anything that wasn’t in writing could be questioned. Had to be questioned. Tested, repeatedly.

Laurent would not accept the end of the world if it handed him a motivational essay, and five letters of recommendation.

That quiet strength was something Gerome admired. Laurent was frail, swamped in robes and a hat twice the size of his head, but he formed a cornerstone of the army. He brought people together, because they knew he’d be unbiased, and consistently objective.

And where it mattered, Laurent recognized matters of the heart. He’d stare ahead, and mumble something about his mother’s mind being expanded by love rather than restricted, and how he could only hope to follow in her footsteps one day. Gerome would hand him another drink, and Inigo would snicker behind his battle-dirty hands.

Gerome should have known he’d be unable to stay isolated in company of Laurent. He tried, and at first, succeeded. Yet, the more information Laurent provided, the more daily battles he fought on behalf of Gerome, the more Gerome felt like he had to be in the fray himself. The fray of casual conversation, of asking after a mercenary's spouse, of carrying boxes just to do someone a favor.

It happened without Gerome realizing it, but Laurent had made him dip his feet into the icy waters of social interaction, and this did not go by unnoticed.

*

“Would it matter at all if I told you I am proud of you?”

Cherche’s question came unexpected, right after she and her Minerva had flown in at the last minute to block an arrow from Gerome’s heart. Gerome could hardly hear her over the roar of battle, over the screeching of their twin wyverns in the blazing hot air.

“What-” Gerome barely got to reply before another enemy closed in on them from above. Why anyone would set up a siege at the mouth of a volcano was beyond him.

“Eyes on the sky, darling.” His mother said, and Gerome blinked the smoke from his eyes, certain that was the reason they stung.

Once their enemy had been slain, axes back on their respective belts, Cherche turned to Gerome once more.

“I realize my feelings may not carry any importance to you.” She continued, and Gerome narrowed his eyes, waiting to see where she would take this. Guilt tripping had never quite worked on him. Nothing, no one could cause him to feel more guilt than he already did.

“If you wish to reject my pride, I will not argue. Yet know that it’s yours, along with my most sincere affections. Whether you choose to see me as family, friend or neither, I wish for us to see the fortunate end of many battles to come.”

She gave Minerva directions in a strong voice, and just like that, she was gone. Gerome found it typical of her to entrust such emotional talk to the grounds (or skies) of battle, and leave not a second after. His own Minerva hovered tentatively, waiting for orders that Gerome neglected to give. He was too busy trying to place the feeling of warmth that flooded his bones.

That evening around the fire, sharpening his axe during watch duty, Gerome listened quietly as Laurent shared yet another theory, when he realized something.

Cherche is not his mother. Yet. And Gerome was not her son, yet. So why did he feel so impatient for her to fulfill a role that he had not met himself? Why did he look to her to fill a gap she had no memory of leaving behind, when he made no move to fill it himself?

He expected her to be his mother, yet at the same time, he wouldn’t let her be his mother, because she wasn’t. His own logic gave him a headache. He wanted to ask Laurent’s opinion, wanted to know if it was wrong of him to feel the way he did, but he was afraid of what his newfound friend might tell him. So he stayed quiet, and listened as Laurent listed constellations.

They spent the remainder of the night gazing up at the stars, taking solace in the knowledge that there would always be light to outlast the most endless of tragedies.


End file.
